Saturday, August 16, 2014

Growing up, every now and then, I would come across the question on why I was so obsessed with Tendulkar. In school, during college, on playgrounds, and on TV. The person, that critic, this one in a million would look left, look right, and when convinced of his safety, would whisper to me “Why do you folks like Tendulkar so much?”

And I would shake my head, and chuckle like condescending old men chuckle, and say in as gruff a voice as possible, “Son you have got it wrong. You don’t understand”

And then I would explain the difference between the most fanatic of his followers, and the ones like me lost unbelievably in admiration. I would tell the critic why we folks like Tendulkar so much.

The thing is I don’t worship Tendulkar. Never had. Yet, I admire him like you cannot even imagine. Gods, and statues and symbols are worshiped. Great men, of bone and flesh, are to be admired. And lessons are to be learnt to improve our own insignificant lives.

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